Dizzy Dancing Way You Feel
by YourFairyGodfather
Summary: "You're wearing a skirt in Ohio; I definitely saved your ass from getting shanked right outside the door." Santana is either the nicest villian, or the meanest hero, that Blaine's ever met. He should probably decide which, since she's got him cornered.


Happy Wednesday, Gleeks! …Hope everyone is awake and chipper, after that lemonade spiked punch at last night's prom…

Originally I was planning on just posting this on tumblr, given it's length, but I've promised too many people on here some happier Santana time, and I think this fits the bill for now. So: I don't own Glee, thank you for reading, and enjoy :D

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><p>As the next song started up, Blaine tightened his arm around his boyfriend's waist.<p>

It was difficult to tell, with the lighting set up for the Prom the way it was, but Blaine was pretty sure Kurt's complexion was starting to return to normal. His posture was already less rigid and his hands (and Blaine's) had stopped shaking, and although he was clearly still thrown by the night's unexpected events, Kurt was a lot calmer and more put together than Blaine could have expected.

Still, what a freaking night. He honestly wasn't sure which one of them had gotten the short end of the stick, as far as Worst Dance Experience Ever went. At least when he'd gotten the crap kicked out of him, it hadn't been in front of the entire school.

With that in mind, he pulled Kurt even closer. "Listen," he proposed, "I know this thing goes on for another half an hour, but what do you say we ditch and I buy you some ice cream? I'd say you've earned it."

He paused. "Plus, the punch here kind of tastes like lemon Pledge," he added.

Kurt looked straight at him. "Are you kidding?" he asked, in a tone of voice that made Blaine stop short and frantically cast his mind back to try and put that reaction in context—were they off dairy this week? Was there some sort of salmonella-related recall that he was supposed to know about?

Fortunately, it looked like Kurt was just shouting to be heard over the music, because before Blaine could start verbally backpedalling, Kurt's eyes softened and he leaned into Blaine's shoulder. "Blaine, you came with me tonight despite your misgivings, both about the event itself, and about my admittedly too-fabulous-for-the-room apparel," he pointed out. "You chased after me when I had to get out of here, you talked me off the ledge, so to speak, and you gave me the courage to come back in here and face everyone. And then you danced with me in the spotlight, knowing full well how this school treats people like us."

He wrapped his arms around Blaine. "We are going to the store and I am buying one pint of every single variety that Messrs Ben and Jerry have to offer, and I am letting you have the first spoonful of _everything_, and we're getting whatever toppings you want, I'm not even going to complain about the caloric travesty wreaking havoc on my hips. Well," he amended, "I'll probably forget and do it at least once, but it's such an ingrained habit, and I know you secretly like it when I complain about my hips because then you have an excuse to stare at them, and—"

Blaine honestly didn't know what Kurt was planning on saying next. And he was probably a bad boyfriend for not really caring, but kissing him senseless just seemed _so much more _important at that particular moment.

And the flushed, breathless-but-happy expression on Kurt's face when he pulled away? Totally made up for any sensitivity points he might have lost.

Taking his boyfriend's hand—and was it weird that ever since Brittany had spent five minutes rambling on the subject, he kept noticing how soft they were?—Blaine started for the door. Everyone was still dancing, not paying them any attention, and it looked like they might be able to get out without a fuss. Which, moment-ruining thought or not, Blaine was really grateful for.

And they nearly made it out unnoticed. Except—

"Where the hell do you two think you're going?"

Blaine turned around. Santana Lopez was standing there, arms crossed, looking royally pissed.

Kurt looked at her wearily. "Home," he answered, sounding suddenly tired. "Can we get into this tomorrow?"

Santana ignored his question. "You're still on protective detail, Porcelain," she snapped. "God, do you learn nothing from cable? If this was a Made for TV movie and you were the President's kid, you'd have been kidnapped by the Russians by now."

Blaine was…slightly confused. He knew Santana had taken a commandeering interest in Kurt's safety at McKinley—Kurt had described it as 'ambiguously-intentioned stalking'—but he'd been under the impression that her goodwill was mostly contingent on her bid for Prom Queen.

Apparently Kurt was thinking along the same lines. "Shouldn't you be threatening evisceration at this point in the conversation?" he asked, in a far more neutral manner than the question deserved.

Santana pursed her lips. "Oh, trust me, it'll happen," she agreed. "The halls of this school will be awash with blood come Monday morning. But when I start knocking heads, I'm not wasting my time—I saw your face when Figgins read your name. I'll probably hate you for a while, but that's just my personality, not because you did anything."

That was possibly the meanest nice thing Blaine had ever heard. Or nicest mean thing. Still, whether it was meant as a vague show of support or a slightly veiled threat, Blaine could have kissed her; if only because Kurt's grip on his hand had tightened, and his eyes were swimming with unshed tears even as he smiled at her. "Blaine drove," he said, just loud enough for Blaine and Santana to hear him over the music. "We're in the third row."

Santana nodded, business-like. "Cool. The other Bully-Whips are either Sophomores or recently-dumped Gay Boyfriends, so I'll be your sole escort this evening. But don't worry—I'm pretty much like the Hulk: when I get angry, I can rip your spine out through your stomach with my bare hands."

And with that incredibly disturbing mental picture, Santana threw open the gym doors and led them out to the parking lot.

"I left my beret at home," she grumbled in explanation, as the three of them picked their way through the rows of cars. "It was too heavy to dance in; I have three knives sewn on the inside."

Kurt nodded, apparently unfazed by this information. "It would have clashed with your dress, anyway," he pointed out. "They're two different shades of red."

And Blaine felt the shudder in his hand as Kurt inhaled, and he knew what his boyfriend was going to do a split second before it happened.

"Perhaps," Kurt said slowly, taking off his crown, "this might work better?"

Santana stared at the crown in Kurt's outstretched hands. "Don't even," she said, voice deprived of its usual venom. Still, her eyes were trained on the rhinestones.

"This doesn't mean the same thing to me that it does to you," Kurt pointed out quietly. "It's mine because the people at this school felt the need to tear me down using this, when they couldn't get to me any other way. It's yours because, whatever your reasons, you put yourself in the line of fire and made it safe for me to walk around school without changing who I am."

He paused. "And because I have everything you want. And you're still skipping part of your Prom to make sure that Blaine and I are safe. You earned this, and I want you to have it."

Blaine had never seen Santana speechless before, and he suspected he might not ever see it again.

Kurt placed the crown on her head, then fixed a few loose tendrils of her hair. "It looks better on me," he breezed, "but I'll be magnanimous and admit that you're a knockout."

He stepped back, taking Blaine's hand again. "Now get in the car," he added. "I hear your date bailed like Cinderella trying to make her unreasonable midnight curfew. We'll drive you home."

Santana scoffed. "You'd better," she said derisively. "You're wearing a skirt in Ohio; I definitely saved your ass from getting shanked right outside the door. Lemme get my purse."

It wasn't until Santana was back in the building, and they were safely in the car, that Kurt closed his eyes and let his head drop onto Blaine's shoulder. "I'm sorry for not asking you," he apologized. "But I'm pretty sure Karofsky ran out altogether, and I didn't want her to have to scramble for a ride."

Blaine tilted his head. "Don't apologize, of course we're driving her home," he promised. "And for what it's worth, I am so, so proud of you for tonight. You were amazing."

And he was. If everything that had gone down over the course of the evening had happened to Blaine, he'd have done his best to sink into the floor.

Kurt…rose to the occasion. Fiercely, flawlessly so.

Kurt snuggled in deeper. "It's worth everything," he answered softly.


End file.
